Empty was my Soul
by LuciusMCassius Yari
Summary: Narcissa Malfoy and life at the Manor. A story of desperation, from her trying to love her husband to saving her son's soul. The first in an on-going series.
1. The Malfoys

Empty was my Soul

She was a good wife. Every night, after her parties and social outings she would sit at home and wait. Narcissa Marie Malfoy knew better than to nod asleep and strictly forced her body into compliance. The servants would undress her and undo her meticulously styled hair, brushing it straight, then fit her into a more casual gown meant for sleeping. Just as they did every night for seventeen years, they did tonight. When they had finished she sent them off with a wave of her hand and stared into one of her many mirrors adorning her spacious and luxurious room. She was still beautiful; her hair was a lovely flaxen blond, her eyes a metallic blue, her skin a soft golden shade, and her features were proportioned like an ancient Greek statuette. Her mother had had her married as young as possible, so she was still pretty enough to be fancied by her husband and stay within his unwavering gaze of power. 

She shivered involuntarily at the thought of her husband's eyes, icy gray and colder than the harshest Northern winter. It was because of those eyes that she fought sleep and waited for his return home. As his wife, she was to wait for her husband at the top of the master staircase, when he arrived, the servants would take his things, brush his coat, and do all the required drudgery, such as polishing off his shoes and sweetening his foul temper after a bad day at the Ministry. Then he would turn to her and he would do one of two things; if he nodded she was to bid him goodnight, then turn and go to bed. If he climbed the stairs to greet her, she was to take him to bed with her. There were no questions asked and no struggle given, it was her duty as his wife.

She sighed, turning from her mirror, it had been nearly 3 months since he had climbed that staircase, and, with her prestigious name she didn't dare go near another man in fear, should endless rumors be spread. Already her very sight seemed to send her husband into cold and turbulent rages, so any word of her being unfaithful certainly wouldn't make the situation any better. Her husband was a very powerful and scary man. If he wanted to, he could have her ousted in an eye-blink, and at the rate she was going she knew she wouldn't last much longer.

It had started over a conversation about their only son, how his grades had dropped in boarding school, how he seemed to be miserable all the time, especially at home. She had blamed it on those 'dreadful meetings' her husband forced their son to attend, which were mostly about 'offing someone' or 'making them pay '. He blamed his son's disappointing behavior on her, and the fact that she wasn't being 'motherly enough' towards him. Thus an argument flared, the servants fled, blows were exchanged, and they had not spoken to each other since. Her husband was torturing her now, not even looking at her, leaving her to converse only with the servants and her empty headed 'friends'. She was miserable and determined to change things. She brushed her hair until it shone and played with her eyebrows, she massaged her eyes to rid of her sleepiness; she was going to look like a queen tonight, her husband's queen. She was going to be so beautiful that he could not resist her. She continued to toy with her appearance until a servant arrived at her door to tell her that He had arrived. 

She jumped from her chair and strode with a nervous grace out of the room, through the high-ceiling hallway, covered with red draperies and antique paintings, to the pinnacle of the master staircase, where she waited.

Master, Lord, Sire, all names that were used in addressing her husband; he was a very prominent person in the social and political worlds, but in his house, he was omnipotent. No one dared dispute him. Not his wife, not his son, most definitely not the servants.

She waited at the top of the staircase and watched Lucius Malfoy was escorted through the door. The servants took his trench coat and asked him sugary questions: "How was your day, sire?" "What can I bring you, Master?" The most they got as an answer was a firm monosyllabic command or a wave of the hand, it was almost as if she were watching a movie about Count Dracula and his babbling minions. 

Finally, the Manor settled and she felt her heart skip as her husband looked up at her.He was a striking man, with the most exotic features that were passed down every generation through the male side of the family, not a detail faltering. His most notable ones were his hair and eyes. It was as if his ancestors of late had sprouted from a snowdrift, for his hair had strangely attractive white highlights, even as a boy; this she had been able to determine from baby pictures in the library. His eyes were like pieces of ice chipped from a glacier, because they never melted, and they never showed anything, anything that was on his mind. They could penetrate through the most professional liars, like a drill to glass; she even had an uncanny feeling that he could read minds. He was young, like her, he had married at eighteen in order to appease his father's wishes, but he showed a bitterness and hatred that she had never seen the likes of.

She felt her hair stand on end as his eyes traveled up her body, starting at her feet, lingering on her hips and breasts, then continuing until they were gazing into each others eyes. She did her very best impression of a submissive and pensive wife, which she was. His eyes stared coldly at her and she felt her stomach fluttering in anxiety. He turned to the servants and scathingly ordered them away, before, to her great surprise, climbing the staircase.

He did so very casually, not slowly, not quickly, and she felt her butterflies become pins. He stopped in front of her and gripped her shoulder, tightly. Her husband was very strong; if he was mad enough and struck her with the right amount of force, he could break her neck, she was reminded of this every time they fought. She looked down, recognizing his domination over her.

"So," he began, his voice steelier than his eyes, "You've reconciled your bad temper, Narcissa? Or- must I be put in the position of dealing with you, should this occur again."

She felt her voice tremble, as she croaked a feeble: "Yes" before it died out all together. He took her chin into his hand and she forced herself to look him back in the eyes. They were intense, filled with some unreadable emotion, burning into her soul before confirming her reply with a nod.

"You're telling the truth, -for once. Good. From now on you won't cross me, understand?"

She nodded dumbly. Her hands trembled and she twisted them in her gown to ease them. Her husband shot her one more, unreadable look, before pulling her close, bringing his mouth to hers and forcefully parting her lips with his tongue. He grasped her waist and twisted his own hands in her robes. She untied hers and placed them over her husband's. He clutched them tightly and didn't part from their kiss until even the tips of her fingers were warm. 

He was oddly gentle that night. Usually he was quite horrible to her, especially after an argument, but in bed he only held her against him. Somewhere after midnight he fell into sleep and she followed soon after, feeling as though she was reliving her first few weeks of marriage.

Morning came quickly. She rose from the many layers of sheets to find her husband gone and a servant beckoning her to rise and groom herself, which she did. At seven-thirty precisely she climbed down the stairs, through the enormous manor, looking quite stunning to meet with the rest of her family.

The breakfast table was cleanly set, and numerous dishes were provided for their tastes. She had been the last to arrive, which was usual. She glanced at Lucius, who had buried himself in the Daily Prophet, then at her son, who had buried his head in his arms. She sat in silence, nervously observing the newspaper, which hid her husband. It did not move, save the flipping of pages and no one talked. She timidly began to eat the meal, fearing an argument was in the air.

For several moments there was no sound, save the sound of clinking silverware, when unexpectedly, her husband's fist came crashing down onto the table. It made the dishes jump and her son shot up, a wild expression on is face. She dropped her silverware in fear.

"Lucius," she breathed, clutching her heart, "Wh-What is it?"

Her husband lowered the paper to reveal his cold and furious face.

"Fudge," he snarled, "That blundering, pigeon toed, bastard twit!! Ach!!" he spat.

"What has he done now?" she asked more confidently. The behavior of Minister Cornelius Fudge was the source of many fits her husband threw. The poor man was incompetent, so Lucius took advantage of him. Her husband kept close ties with every Minister in Europe, one of the reasons he was so busy.

"The blithering fool has accepted a proposal sent in by Arthur Wealsly. It's a Muggle tolerance law, now we can't even enjoy going out for a picnic without being fined for breaking one law or another....That flea-bitten, Horse lusting-

"Yes dear," she replied, cutting him off. She felt braver now, her husband seemed to be in a playful mood. He shot her a patronizing glare before growling and returning to his paper.

"Are you going out with those fluff-filled friends of yours today?" he sneered idly, not bothering to look up. He hated her friends. She felt her hand shiver from his tone of voice.

"Possibly," she replied again. She no longer felt brave.

"Possibly?! It's either yes or no, woman!!" he snapped, he was no longer playful.

Her son rose from the table with a jerk, knowing a conflict was in the cards.

"Father," he began, "If I may be excused?"

"Yes, Draco, you may go." Lucius nodded. He held out his hand and the boy kissed it before turning and disappearing from the room. Her son had a knack for scampering out of the Malfoy Manor before a vile argument reared its ugly head. If only she were able to do the same thing...

Her husband turned and rounded on her.

"Well?!" he demanded.

"No," she decided, "I won't go out with my 'fluff-filled' friends today."

He shot her a strange, half-smile and set the paper aside; she wondered if she had said the right thing. He motioned to the servants that they were done and the table was cleaned in moments. It was just she and her husband-only the table separated them. 

"I'm going to the Ministry today, first to maul that Cornelius Fudge, the to attend some meetings, but-"

He rose from the table in an imperious manner,

"My night is free,...and the Sinclairs are hosting a, no, the party. Do you wish to go tonight or stay at home?"

She was lucky. She had thought, from experience, that her husband was going to ask something along the lines of, "There's a party tonight, are you going to be there and act like my wife, or stay home like the sluttish witch you are?"

She immediately accepted his invitation to go and he left with another unreadable look in his eyes. 

For hours afterwards, Narssica constantly pondered on what she had done to receive such a reward as to accompany her husband to such a grandiose affair. Of course she had heard of the Sinclairs and their revelries. Her husband often snuck out late at night to plot with the Mr. Arthur Sinclair, and everyone, who was someone, was invited to the 'Sinclair summer party'. She knew little about the family, besides the fact that Arthur had been very close to Cassius Malfoy, Lucius' father, and that they were nearly as notorious as the Malfoy family. Nearly, but not quite. To many people, the entire Malfoy family was the stuff only nightmares were made of. The Sinclairs were just a sour taste to an otherwise pleasant sleep. She wished she could do something to show people that at least she was pleasant, and that no one need send their children off when she entered the room. 

The more she thought of the Sinclairs, the more she felt as though her secluded life of puzzle pieces were coming together into a clearer, and clearer picture. Lucius had constantly talked to her son about the Sinclair boy, who was only a few years older, how they would compliment each other; then of the Sinclair girl, who a supposed beauty, and how they should meet, become friends, and much more. She supposed her husband wished his son to marry as early as he did, if not earlier. 

She sighed in agony, remembering how her parents had literally beat her into meeting a handsome, gray-eyed, towheaded young man, pestering her every minute, asking her if she liked him. When she had meekly replied yes, she was married to him that week, after seeing him only one day. She had childishly hoped that the stern eighteen year old had been vicious because he was shy, not noticing that the boy's father, Cassius Malfoy, the scariest man she had ever laid eyes upon, had already begun to mold his son into an exact copy of himself. In reality, Narcissa had not married Lucius Malfoy, she had married his father, Cassius. She supposed that the Lucius she ought to have been in love with had died before she knew him, killed by his own father, to be replaced by someone else, someone who felt nothing but hate, bitterness and lust. And now, Lucius was doing exactly what Cassius had done to him. He was killing his son, strangling his life slowly from him, bleeding out all the love she had tried to give her son, and trading it for cool, black glass. She cried every time her husband took her son down to the dungeon to beat him for little things like etiquette and disobedience. Her son hated her because he thought she was weak and pathetic, (another lesson taught by Lucius) and was hopelessly devoted to his father. He wanted to be just like him; command the same respect, make people shiver at the mention of his name, have a beautiful woman wait for him at home every night. Everything Lucius was, Draco wanted to be.

Narcissa looked up to realize that her wandering had brought her to the Malfoy gardens. Despite his dark exterior, Lucius liked colorful and verdant gardens, and it showed. The trees were placed as to give a natural appeal, and parted to reveal a clear, bubbling pool. She had spent many afternoons gazing into it, wondering if her husband would ever need her. It was a happy reminder of better things, things she was hoping she could do, and dreams that seemed to grow each year. She sighed and continued wandering. She walked around with an air of habit; she had developed a path through the garden and had never strayed from it since. Her feet led her through the meadows overgrown with wildflowers, the paths of Cypress that looked like fingers reaching to the heavens, and past the garden house. After the sun had reached a position directly over her she decided it was time to head home, she had been going in circles for hours, all of her ponderings were gone from her mind and now she was merely filled with a feeling of emptiness.

She turned and began to backtrack; she kept her eyes on her feet, not knowing there was a person in front of her until her head pressed into them. She shot up in surprise and saw none other than her own child, Draco Malfoy. His face was an exact copy of Lucius', cold, bismuth and emotionless. She loved him more than he could ever know however, because his eyes still carried a youthful, rebellious spark of life, one that was completely extinguished in the eyes of her husband. He cocked his head and stared at her for a moment before smiling a feral smile, (the only kind a Malfoy seemed to be capable of) and placing a hand on her head.

" Mother, a beautiful woman like you shouldn't be walking around all alone."

She blushed, "Oh...I was just heading back to the Manor, Draco, but its kind of you to worry." She wanted to grab him and pull him against her chest, something she knew he would never let her do. Instead she controlled herself and began to slowly inch away.

"Mother?" Draco started to follow her as she inched away.

"Yes, Draco?" Oh, how she longed to attach 'dear' and 'I love you" to her words, but that was heavily scorned by all in the house, including Draco.

"May I ask you something?"

"Go ahead." dear, she mentally added.

"D-Do you suppose you might be angry, if I say, um, liked a-a Mudblood?" the last word came out as a squeak and he nervously watched her as she walked. She almost wanted to burst with joy, but then she was reminded of her husband and her joy waned into terror, he would kill Draco if he ever found out.

"Well, Draco, I-I wouldn't mind, but your father would-"

"Tie me up, place me in a weighted bag, and throw me into the nearest river?" he finished for her.

"Yes. Why do you ask?" Narcissa was beyond curious; this was the most interesting conversation she'd had in weeks. She tried to smile encouragingly, but it must have come out wrong, because he shot her an ashen face that was lined with pain and fear.

"No, No reason, really, just thought I might ask. Don't tell Father, please!!"

"Of course not, Draco, don't be ridiculous!" she answered, slightly offended that he would think of her as a tattletale. She knew he would get the beating of his life if she even mentioned her son talking about a Mudblood to Lucius.

He gave her another frightened look before turning and running into the Manor, most probably to hide in his room, where none of the servants could bother him, and she couldn't follow him.

Ahhhh…revised and put into a better font. Thank the Fairies!! I had to squint whenever I read this, so I decided enough was enough. Lucius is my favorite character, followed closely by Snape and Draco. If you have any story requests please let me know, because I love doing requests.


	2. Thoughts

Empty was my Soul: Chapter 2

The day went by smoothly, with Narcissa lounging in the library, and her son, Draco, locked in his room, stubbornly refusing to come out or eat.

'_He's really in love! _' She kept thinking, musing on how he must fantasize about the girl constantly. He probably kept poetry written somewhere in his room, but she was not allowed there. She was not allowed anywhere except the common rooms, her room and the library. Lucius' orders.

She sighed, remembering that her husband was taking her to the Sinclair party, and that she still hadn't decided what to wear. She cringed at the thought of her husband. If he ever found out that their son was in love (and from what few hints Draco had given her, with a Mudblood) Draco would suffer a fate worse than death. Narcissa knew her husband well, and she also knew that he wouldn't bat an eye at using an Unforgivable Curse on Draco, or her. 

Lucius didn't believe in "girlish fancies" like love and he let everyone know it. Narcissa hypothesized that this was because he'd never been able to experience it. He had cowered before his father's raised fist and his mother had died soon after childbirth, committing suicide. He had been taught to hate by Cassius Malfoy, who had been taught by Nero Malfoy, who had been taught by Romulus Malfoy, and so on. The family was cursed somehow, she knew it, and she prayed that Draco would not become her husband. To her great dismay, though, she knew he was well on his way.

'_Besides his being able to love of course _'She only hoped that Draco would realize this.

Still, quite surprisingly, Narcissa would get a glimpse of her true husband and son through the demonic masks they wore. She had always thought that Lucius had no feelings for her besides disgust, and sometimes a very fiery lust, but there had been times when she saw something in his eyes that was neither. She recalled all to well the last time she had seen that expression…. 

***

5 years ago….

She was very, very late. Normally, she would have been home by now, but her idiot friend René Macnair had insisted they spike their tea and get drunk out of their minds before returning home. Absent mindedly, Narcissa had drifted of into a not so sober sleep, and hadn't woken until 1 in the morning. Now she flew as fast as she could and her hangover permitted to Malfoy Manor. She prayed that somehow, her husband had forgotten that she was supposed be waiting at the top of the Master staircase for him.

She would be beaten, she was fairly sure; it was the only punishment she deserved….

But she wasn't beaten. Instead, when she arrived a very surprised and relieved servant took her cloak and led her straight to the observatory, where she found her husband waiting.

The servant wisely vacated. Narcissa nervously recalled the last time she had talked to Lucius, and how he had been cold and caustic, causing her to cry in front of him. She knew he didn't like people who cried; he thought they were weak.

Lucius was leaning on his fist, seated in his favorite leather armchair, which she noted warily, was surrounded by empty wine bottles. She swallowed hard, remembering very vividly that Lucius had no head for alcohol, and decided that he must have drunk all of them after he had arrived home.

He looked up, a miserable expression on his face, then noticing her presence, signaled her to come closer, which she did. He looked at her pensively before leaning forward and stretching his hand to meet hers. The stood for several minutes, facing each other, before he tenderly pulled her close. He let out a soft moan of pain and buried his head in her hair, holding her tightly, and softly stroking her head.

Rarely had Narcissa been treated this way; with such tenderness, she wanted to cry, but instead melted into his arms and they fell into the leather armchair, wrapped in each other's embrace. They held each other close, listening to their breathing, which rose and fell softly, before Lucius forced a whisper:

"I thought I had lost you."

She nearly fainted. Lucius cared about her, Lucius wanted her, Lucius needed her. She looked up at his eyes and saw, for a second, a vulnerable, kind man hidden under all that ice. Their lips met softly, and Lucius began to slowly cover her neck and bosom with butterfly kisses, not the rough, bruising ones they shared usually.

It was in those few fleeting moments that she had sworn never to leave Lucius, because the man beneath all the weight of his past, and present, needed her. Though now, five years later, she was wondering if she would ever see the face it had taken one second to love, and if the whole night had been a dream.

***

Present time…

A door bursting open drew her from her thoughts. She looked up, startled, and saw none other than Lucius, dripping wet, and leaving small puddles wherever his feet tread. She had not even noticed that it had begun to rain heavily outside, and that it was gray and dreary. The servants had collected her husband's drenched cloak and he now stood bitterly in the doorway, his robes clinging to his chest and waist, his pale hair plastering his cheeks and neck. She might have taken the time to notice just how attractive he was if she hadn't first seen the expression on Lucius' face. It looked ready to kill.

"You-" he began, advancing on her, "You haven't even begun to get ready, have you? We leave in half an hour!!!"

She leapt nimbly to her feet. 

"Yes, Yes, of course, I'm very, very sorry Lucius. I-I lost track of time.."

"I'll say you did!!" he snarled, but at the same moment his face began to soften, " It's all right, really, I didn't want you to wear any of your old gowns anyway."

"Lucius-" she began.

"Because I've bought you a new one." He continued, cutting her off, and revealing a carefully concealed package from the folds of his robes. It was the only thing on him that wasn't wet. 

"Lucius-" she breathed a sigh of relief, then of amazement as he reviled the dress to her. It was an icy blue. A good color on her, and the material was woven from pixie silk. It shimmered every time light hit its surface. It must have cost a fortune. She reached to touch it but Lucius deterred it from her grasp.

"Uh-Un. You are getting near it and neither am I."

"But-but why Lucius?" she started.

"Because," an impish grim spread across his face, "by the time I'm done with you, we'll both be wetter than a pair of guppies in monsoon season." 

He clasped her waist and drew her close. He was wetter than he looked, if such a thing was possible. It was a few moments to late that she realized she was wearing nothing but thin, white robes. In seconds she was drenched, and totally visible.

"Lucius!! " she cried in dismay, "You dirty old man!! You knew I was in white!!"

He smirked, "I couldn't resist myself." And pushed her away, taking a few moments to admire the view before turning to shower and change himself. She fumed with a playful frustration before turning to her own quarters to have her hair styled just so, and her dress outfitted by the servants. Thank goodness they could use magic.

At seven o' clock precisely they sauntered out the door, both looking like rulers of a vast land, which, Narcissa supposed, was exactly what they were, at least in a political sense. If Lucius knew how to do anything, it was pull strings, including hers. 

Draco did not accompany them. While Mr. Malfoy was anxious to get his son to the Sinclairs, the boy had waved his father away by claiming he was sick. Which he was. Sick with the love bug. No one had any idea that he felt an uncontrollable yearning for a certain "Mudblood", but he did, and it called out to him. He wanted to be near her, see her smile, hear her laugh.He was plainly stuck between the two most important things in his life. His hero, his mentor, his idol and his Father, and his one, pure love. Who would he betray? His entire family and all that it stood for, or the one person that had a chance at opening his heart.

After a long and agonizing year of sneers, insults and exchanged blows, he felt as though he had put up with his little rouse long enough. He was going to tell her, but all of his letters were monitored closely, and there was no way he would ever convince her of meeting him in private. So that left only random, chance encounters in public places, which he had to most dutifully act as a Malfoy would in fear of disgracing his name. None of these answers were suitable. 

Finally, the sultry, 15 going on sixteen boy came up with an idea. He could talk to her alone, especially if he showed up at her doorstep, it was risky, but he could do it. His plan began to take action as his father and mother left for their party. He waited breathlessly as they stepped into the carriage and drove off, before slipping from his servants view and running, non-stop, out of the Malfoy grounds, into the woods. He ran, and ran, and ran, down dirt roads and meadows. He knew exactly where to go, he could _feel_ her. He kept her face close in his mind as he rounded bends and dips, not stopping, and not slowing.

At last, he arrived at a pleasant cottage, she was here, he knew. He ran through the garden to the house, padding softly so not to alarm a neighboring dog. He reached the doorstep, heaving and half-retching in exertion. Inside were happy voices and a bout of pealing laughter. It sounded nothing like his house. 

His hand trembled as he pushed the doorbell, he felt as though his lungs were on fire. Footsteps were heard and the door opened. It was her, still beautiful, he wore a shocked expression at this, but not a shocked as hers.

"Draco?!" she chocked out in surprise.

"Hermione," he breathed heavily," Please, let me in."

Then he collapsed in exhaustion, falling on her doorstep, unconscious.

Soooooooooo, ya like? Please R/R. It helps me learn. IF YOU WANT THIS STORY TO CHANGE TELL ME!!!!!!! THERE IS A VERY HIGH POSSIBILITY IT WILL HAPPEN. Spooky, huh?

Thank you for reading.

Yari


	3. The Party

Empty was my Soul: Chapter3 ½

Lucius and Narcissa

Lucius did not like Mr. Sinclair, in fact, he _hated_ the man. Lucius hated a lot of people. When he and Narcissa climbed from out of their carriage though, he was firmly reminded just how much he hated Arthur, when the gray skinned, boy-faced man greeted the couple. Through out the simple formalities Lucius couldn't help but notice that the man rarely took his eyes off his wife.

"Ah. Arthur.," Lucius finally snarled after the fifth lusty stare Sinclair had directed at Narcissa, " I see you haven't met my wife Narcissa."

The black haired man bowed and took her hand, kissing it. She was quite taken aback by his boldness, but she was distracted by his blazing green eyes. She liked green eyes on men.

"It is my pleasure," he smirked, licking his lips. Lucius restrained himself from clawing him and pulled Narcissa away, sneering that there were other guests to attend to besides his wife. Sinclair politely agreed. The couple walked away and Narcissa heard Sinclair call out to her,

"I'll see _you_ on the dance floor."

The man made her uncomfortable.

The Sinclairs had a large ballroom. They were people who entertained, and it showed as Narcissa passed by prettied faces and overdone hair. Guests turned to look and gasp at the Malfoys. On the outside, the family was almost to perfect. There was the powerful, handsome, exotic husband, and the beautiful, submissive, kind wife.

On top of it allLucius had just been nominated as a candidate for Minister of Magic, so everyone now revered them as the classiest household in the wizarding world. If only they know, Narcissa thought bitterly, that all is not what it seems.

The party was all ready underway, with dancing and music, and everyone took turns to greet their hosts and their host's most important guests. When the party was in full swing, Mrs. Sinclair finally appeared. She was overweight and overdressed. She had a false friendliness that Narcissa didn't like. She swooped vampishly over to Lucius and led him away without so much as a word to her.

The poor wife watched worriedly as her husband rapidly disappeared into an abandoned hallway, followed by a flash of jewelry and silk. She bit her lip and waited patiently for her husband to return. 

The party certainly was spectacular. Banners of Red and silver hung from the ceiling and down the walls. Chandeliers the size of elephants swayed, glittering from a new polish. Narcissa decided to find a safe place to wait for her husband. She forced her way through the babbling crowds and seated herself in a dark corner by the staircase.

"Left in the Styx, Ms. Malfoy?" a voice hummed near her.

She turned and saw Arthur Sinclair standing close to her, his hands clutching the staircase banister with incredible force. It was as if he were trying to hold himself back.

"Oh!" she squeaked, "Mr. Sinclair!"

"I'm amazed that someone would leave a dazzling woman like you alone in a party such as this," he commented in forced cheeriness, taking a step towards her.

"They would run the chance." He breathed lustily, "of losing you to a competing suitor."

He took another step closer and reached for her hand. She didn't accept or resist. He took it in his and kissed it more passionately than before, this time running his tongue down her wrist. He glanced up and smiled.

"May I have the pleasure of this dance?" he asked, still clutching her hand.

"Of-of course…" she stuttered, unable to take her eyes off his. He was handsome, this Arthur Sinclair.

And so they danced, and danced, and danced. The world spanned when he held her in his arms, and Lucius was nowhere to be seen. They stole away onto the balcony before the end of the party.

"I will see you again…?" he whispered.

"Yes." She replied simply.

He looked at her solemnly before pulling her close and kissing her as she had never kissed before. They parted soon after, and Narcissa found Lucius waiting for her at the carriage, who said nothing of his long absence, or hers.


	4. Anger

Empty Was My Soul: Chapter3

Draco woke up surrounded by stuffed animals, books and lace. He turned over onto his belly to survey the room more precisely, twisting the bed sheets covering him in between his legs. It was a dim lit room; there were cracks of sunlight peering through the heavy pinkish curtains. A girl owned the room, Draco knew, and the bed was half the size of his own, but then again, most beds were. He yawned and turned to the fluffy soft pillow, grabbing it and commencing to drift into sleep again. What did he care about whose room it was anyway? As long as he got some sleep, his body was killing him.

Hermione stood in the doorway, surveying Draco as he drifted back into sleep. How the little git had found her house, much less know it was her she didn't know, but the sooner he was out, the better. Her parents were quite excited over the fact that a " little wizard friend " had suddenly " dropped by " to visit. She was anything but excited. She had sent an owl to Ron and Harry explaining how their worst enemy (sans. Voldemort) had decided to drop himself on her doorstep. Ron had told her to draw obscene words and gestures in permanent ink all over his body, which she had been wary to do because of Draco's infamously bad temper. Harry had suggested waiting for him to wake up, then to boot him out, but she couldn't really do that either. Her parents were in love with her nemesis, saying how he was adorable, and how he must have been lost. Lost her ass. He'd probably just stopped by to harass her.

But then, she had to keep pondering.. Her parents, being dentists (they still had to pass a basic medical training), told her that he had gone unconscious due to exhaustion. So if that was true, why was he wandering around in the middle of the night, completely dead beat.

"Little bastard" she growled almost affectionately, "You pissed someone off, didn't you? You were running from some one...weren't you? Just how incorrigible can you get?"

She paced into her room, holding a cold compress in her hand and a cup of coffee in the other. She set them down and opened her curtains. It was a beautiful day out. She glanced down at her bed's occupant, the sole reason why she had been forced to sleep on the couch last night. Funny as it might sound, the towheaded boy looked angelic when he was sleeping. She almost blushed watching him, his chest rising and falling softly and one of his hands over his head, absently tangled in wisps of his silver-blond hair. He was attractive when he wasn't wearing his habitual sneer. At that very moment, Hermione realized that he looked just like an ordinary child, a vulnerable, scared boy, hiding under a pile of blankets and promises that would never be fulfilled. She almost cried at the poignancy of the moment. The angel faced boy raised to be a devil. 

She reached out to touch him, to see if he was real. As her fingers began to graze his skin she felt like perhaps, just perhaps she had been wrong about him, and that maybe, just maybe, she would let him stay at her house a while longer. She liked his hair. It felt like water running softly against her hands, just not getting them wet. It was when she had the most adoring face on, symbolic of Madonna and child, when Draco opened his eyes. She froze, her hand still entwined in his hair, her eyes wide.

Draco gazed back at her. His eyes hovered over her with bland emotion before almost shutting again. Then they bulged back open as he finally realized where he was. He paled, then flushed, then flew up in a heartbeat, letting out a high-pitched shriek.

"My god!! Granger?!?!" he screeched.

"Good morning, Draco." She replied sarcastically.

"No!!" he wailed, "This-This has to be a dream, a-a nightmare!!! Why am I in the Mudblood's house?!"

"I don't know, why don't you tell me!!!" she spat angrily. He had no right to call her a Mudblood in her own house.

Draco sneered.

"Oh, you think I want to be here, you filthy excuse of a witch, surrounded by you Muggle relatives?!"

"Then GET OUT!!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, and instinctively reached for her coffee cup. In less than a split second, hot coffee splattered all over her stuffed animals and the hard, stone bottom of the mug came crashing down on Draco's skull. It made a sickening cracking noise before shattering and covering her bed with little pieces of ceramic. She gasped. Draco sat with a surprised expression on his face as blood from his bitten through lip gushed from his mouth, and his slashed scalp spattered her pink and white sheets red.

"Hermione? I-I didn't mean it..I'm s-sorry.." he feebly croaked, then buckled over in pain, falling unconscious a second time.

"Hermione, dear, is everything all right?" came her mother's voice from outside the room.

"Hermione?"

"Hermione?"

Silence.

"Hermione?!?!"

Silence was followed by screams of panic and the running of feet. At 8:00 a.m. the Grangers carried Draco's body down the stairs and laid him across the couch. Blood stained the carpet in a trail from her room to the kitchen and into the living room. Orders were shouted, panicked movements pulled paper over the bloodstains and pressed cold compresses against Draco's ever swelling would. Dr. Granger dialed 911 while her husband started up the car in case it be needed. Hermione sat guilt stricken, pressing wet towels against Draco's skin, trying to clean him off.

She felt so stupid. She had almost killed someone over a few simple insults. She was as bad as Lord Voldemort. She hung her head in shame. Draco hadn't even meant it.

"Hermione? Hermione?!" her mothers voice broke her thoughts. She turned to face her.

"We're going to take your friend to the hospital now, do you want to come?"

She nodded weakly. Her mother's brow crinkled in worry.

"Hermione, dear, why did you do this?"

She began to cry, sobbing loudly.

"I'm-I'm no better than Lord Voldemort!!!" she wailed.

Her mother was joined by her father who stood fidgeting in panic at having a visitor get his skull cracked open, and in his daughters state of mind.

"Honey, help us carry him okay? We have to take him to the hospital now, ok?" Mrs. Granger pleaded.

"That won't be necessary." Came an icy voice from the doorway.

The Grangers turned and came face to face with an exceptionally angry Lucius Malfoy. His eyes flickered from the bloody carpet, to the teary eyed Hermione, to his own son, who lay deathly still, covered in red stained towels. His heart began to beat extraordinarily fast in terror and concern. In two bound's he was at his son's side. It was bad, very bad. He hoisted his son into his arms and began to carry him out the door.

"S-Sir!! He-He has to go to the hospital-" began Dr. Granger.

Mr. Malfoy's eyes flashed dangerously.

"Be glad you aren't dead!!" he hissed, "Consider it a large mercy from my family to yours."

On the way to the Manor, Lucius' heart pounded in his chest as he fought the urge to turn around and kill the stupid Muggle's for hurting his one and only son. He had contacted one of the finest doctors via. Telepathy, a skill that was illegal but he didn't care. Very few could do it anyway. He reached the Manor the same time the doctor did and together they put Draco into a stable condition.

That morning, when Lucius had gone out, worriedly looking for their son, Mr. Sinclair had come to call on Narcissa. He dodged the servants and burst open the door to her room. She had been surprised of course, but not without gratitude, Mr. Malfoy had not allowed her to come and she needed support and sympathy. Her son had just run away from home and Lucius hadn't slept all night, sick with worry. She hadn't either, for that matter.

Mr. Sinclair offered her flowers, kind words and passionate kisses. She was still smitten over this seemingly kind man. After a while he coaxed her to take off her clothes. She complied. She always complied.

"But what about Lucius?" she had moaned as Arthur buried his head in her chest.

"Forget about him." He replied, as he ran his tongue along her milky smooth skin, "He'll be out all day looking for your bloody son."

She didn't like his attitude all of a sudden, but dismissed it as a fluke. And so they had proceeded to make love all morning long. Neither of them heard in the heat of passion, Lucius Malfoy dashing up the stairs to relive his wife's worries for their lost son, or the door being opened, and neither of them saw Lucius freeze at the doorway in absolute horror, the grief. They didn't hear him close the door again and a servant who was passing by thought it odd that the Master was leaning against his wife's room's door, a single tear rolling down the side of his cheek. 

hmmm....it's taking a different turn, but tell me if ya' like!! It's gonna get alot better after this!! I PROMISE!!!

Until next Chapter, Yari


	5. Betrayal

# Empty was My Soul: Chapter 4

Authors Notes: So far everything has started to turn mellow…. I was thinking of writing a novella but,.. As it is now, I'm might have to have to discontinue this series. I was thinking of writing some really cool stuff, but it just didn't fit in. Perhaps a second series is in order.

** **

Lucius stalked around the halls at night. He went even further than usual and didn't even bother to note the servants who scurried away in fear. He took the liberty to randomly throw and smash anything within his arms reach.

* Why?! * His mind screamed, *** **Why? What did I fail at? Aren't I a good husband?! * He picked up a small statuette and threw it against the wall, pretending it was his own face.

* Damn me!!! * He punched the wall with all his might, and screamed in both rage and pain as his flesh impacted with the hard stone. A servant that had been scurrying around from room to room approached him nervously, and looked at his feet sadly as she stooped to clean the small trail he had blazed in the Manor. She nodded respectfully before turning to leave. He stopped her.

"Get me something to drink!!" he snarled at her, "And make it hard!!!"

She paled in apprehension and ran away as fast as her legs could carry her. Lucius scowled and stalked down the lonely hall and up the stairs to the chapel he haunted on a daily basis. It was here that he could tell the world how he felt, pour his deepest emotions into the air, scream at fate…

He walked down the aisle and stopped in front of the mantle. To its right was an organ, _the_ organ, _his_ organ. Music was what relived him of his rage, but he didn't know if it would work this time.. He remembered that his father Cassius Malfoy had come here often and forced him to play, and play, and play. Always he was made to play sad and angry songs while his father paced, so he learned early on how to express such strong emotions through to instrument.He frowned miserably.

* Draco ran to some Mudblood's house, why? Doesn't he want to be here…with me? Narcissa…how…could…you…betray me so…? *

He snarled at no one. He felt a bitter taste in his mouth as rage bubbled up again inside him…

Footsteps suddenly came from the entrance of the chapel; he rounded on the person, a feral expression on his face. It was the Head Maid, Hilda, with a wine bottle in an icebox and a steel goblet.

"Master." She nodded in the appropriate manner, handing him the goblet, "It's steel, so you wont be able to smash it as easy, and this is wine, so you'll fall asleep instead of going into a drunken fury."

"Thank you so much, Hilda." He sneered, snatching the bottle from the icebox. Anything to keep from being sober. His maid raised her eyebrows disapprovingly before turning and walking away. No one wanted to be near the Master for very long when he was in this mood. She stopped at the doorway and said:

"It's not all your fault you know, you were raised with no other example of how to act.."

Then she left.

He roared several curses from his vast repertoire and whoever was near quickly disappeared. He planted himself on the organ bench and pulled off the cork to his bottle. He drank the entire bottle in minutes. He didn't give a damn about alcohol poisoning. He wanted to lose the pain, and the memories. He tipped the bottle from the organ and leaned in on the giant keyboards. He started to play, slowly and aimlessly at first, but gradually he became faster, more furious and less conscious. His fingers seemed to be possessed as he passed in-between consciousness. He didn't need music. He attacked the keyboard with his own songs, ones he had learned to play through instinct. I t was an angry song, fast and sad at the same time. After several minutes he stopped and leaned over on the keyboard, causing it to resonate with one single pitch..

*Narcissa. * He pondered, * Why do I care about you? Why do I feel this way…even after all we've been through? *

He reached forward and grabbed the wine red sheets over the organ, twisting his fingers into the fabric.

*I hate this!! I hate you. I hate myself!!! I just want to die!!! *

And with that he pulled fiercely at the red sheets, subconsciously knowing that the heavy, black cross was right over him.

It came crashing down, it's long spike slicing through his chest, barely missing his heart, impaling him and causing him to fly from his seat at the organ. He screamed, half in disappointment that the holy item hadn't killed him, half in pain. But he was drunk, poisoned, and he fell into a blissfully dark sleep. The last thing he heard was a voice crying out his name. He mistook it for an angel telling him he was going in the wrong direction; he was supposed to be heading down.

Narcissa had not bothered to wonder what had happened to Arthur Sinclair after that morning. She supposed he had gone back to his family and friends and overdressed wife gloating over his newest triumph, screwing Lucius Malfoy's wife. She felt more than used. The man had left without even saying goodbye. She had thought he was kind, she had thought Lucius was kind, too. Was she just some pretty face that came down for polishing once in a while? Did anyone in the entire god-forsaken earth love her?! 

She sniffled and thought of her cold, caustic husband, wondering where he had run off to while she had been….busy. The maids would tell her nothing, and Draco was quite off the deep end after having his skull fractured. She sighed listlessly and tried to turn back to a book on Astronomy. Lucius was probably at the Ministry, working his problems away.

"Milady?" a voice fro behind called quietly. 

She turned; it was Hilda, the Head Maid. Hilda was a sassy woman in her fifties, but she was also the best maid in the country. She had bee in the Malfoy family since birth; she had watched Lucius emerging from his mother, winced alongside the other maids as the boy had been beaten by Cassius, and observed quietly even now…

Narcissa considered the woman an equal, seeing as she was quite often treated as a servant in her own right. Lucius saw Hilda as an unpleasant reminder of his father and his past life, but he didn't get rid of her. He clung to every small reminder of his past, horrible as it was, because just like Draco doted him, Lucius had practically worshiped his father. Narcissa had a feeling that if Lucius were to come in contact with a boggart, it would probably turn into Cassius Malfoy. At least she alone had not feared the man. 

"Milady?" Hilda repeated.

Narcissa smiled feebly, "Hello, Hilda, how are you?"

Hilda didn't return the gesture.

"Don't ask me how I've been when your husband's going into a flying rage, breaking things and slapping around the maids, you hussy!!"

Narcissa took that like a well-planted blow to the face. Hilda had never been this rude before. She blinked several times. Had Draco's running away really caused her husband t go that up the wall? Or did he know?! She felt herself starting to break into a cold sweat. Had he seen Mr. Sinclair leave, or did one of the servants tell him? Lucius had always scared her with his sense of perception.

"I know what you're thinking." Hilda continued, "Does he know? And how?"

Narcissa swallowed. Hilda, as well as most of the maids, knew about that morning.

"Well, let me tell you," Hilda snarled, "The man does know."

Narcissa gasped, all her color instantly drained from her face.

"Her walked in on you two." Hilda finished.

Narcissa let out a soft moan and brought her hands to her mouth. So he knew. Was he going to kill her? Or was he going to torture her until the end of their lives? Her mood only worsened as Hilda went on to explain that he had walked in that morning because he had planned to tell his wife about their son's injuries, and that he had gone off to the chapel to abuse himself physically and mentally.

The maid watched silently as Narcissa cried. She shook her head ever so slowly, pondering the cause of the Malfoys' unhappiness. She had come in contact with 3 generations of Malfoys, and each one was as bad as the rest.

"Was it worth it?" she whispered ever so softly.

Narcissa looked up, her eyes red and puffy.

"It-it wasn't worth it." She sniffed through her hands. "He-he didn't even care about m-m-me…I've-I've ruined everything." She bit her lip in effort, trying to keep from wailing.

"It's not over yet." Hilda declared, "If he can forgive you, and you him…"

Narcissa sniffed again. She was about to reply when the pealing of an organ interrupted her. She paled. Lucius frequently played the organ; when he was furious, or when he was in pain. He liked the surroundings, being in a chapel, and pounding the keys like there was no tomorrow. It was as if he could only express his emotions through the instrument. He was good; everyone admitted he could be a professional if he wanted to, but he was haunted by something; perhaps a memory that was relived every time he played. In any case, his resorting to the instrument to calm his nerves usually meant he had alcohol too. Narcissa began to shake in fear of what the man had I store for her.

Hilda shook her head and turned to the frightened wife.

"I gave him some wine, blimey, I can remember when his father had the stuff and forced the boy to play for him on that blasted organ…"

Narcissa gazed up at Hilda with a pleading written across her face.

"Should I go to him?" she whispered.

"He won't get any less angry. Right now he's probably too stoned to do anything to you and still understand what you're saying. Better go to him before he decides it's all your fault."

Narcissa nodded mutely before rising slowly and walking as though she were barefoot on glass to the door. Lucius was going to kill her. She had insulted his pride, his sense of ethics and morality, and worst of all, she had betrayed him for a strange man she didn't even know. She began to see images of her lifeless corpse being thrown into the deepest dungeon, left to rot. She did not know if Lucius cheated on her; but sometimes he came home smelling different. Like a woman, as if he had been with one for a while, rubbed against them, shared the same skin with them. Perhaps he did, but she had no proof. 

She crept into the hallway, wincing as Lucius began to play an improvisation. It was incensed with anger and hatred of the third degree; it caused the windows to rattle and the floors to pound.

"Stop it Lucius…" she cried softly under her breath. Every key that came down was like a knife to her heart. It hurt, and maybe she deserved it, but still…

At the doorway to the cathedral she halted. Something hard and heavy could be heard smashing against the keyboard of the organ and she heard Lucius scream. The organ continued playing, as though a weight were pressed on its keys. She thought perhaps Lucius was venting and finishing a dramatic piece, but it became very clear that something was wrong. She covered the distance between the chapel and her in seconds.

There was Lucius, his body coiled over the organ, limp and lifeless. A bottle of wine lay at his feet, the last remnants dripping from its mouth, mixing with the sticky blood running down the legs of the instrument. But what really made her face drain and contort in fear was the cross that impaled Lucius through his chest, with twisted and mangled pieces of metal wrapped around it. She ran to her husband, thinking nothing about the organ's constant scream, or the over turned pews. His eyes were glazed over, his lips parted, and in his hands he held the red sheets that were supposed to be beneath the black cross. Realization hit her. He had tried to kill himself. Her husband; the strong one, the sturdy one,…the unpredictable one.

"Lucius!" she moaned softly. She dashed to him and futilely tried to lift him from the keyboard. Frantically she looked around, she couldn't do magic, she had never been taught how, she couldn't help him…

"Help!!" she screamed, trying to attract attention over the organ's wailing. "Someone help!!!"

No one seemed to hear. She pulled at Lucius, harder and harder. As she groaned in helplessness a memory hit her.

A dressing room:

"Put this on."

"Why?"

"It suits you better than that black dress."

"Alright…"

Raised eyebrows.

"You look beautiful."

"Did you peek?"

"Of course not."

Soft screams…

"What's that noise?"

"I-I think it's my mother…"

In that very chapel.

"You're going to go look at girls aren't you?"

"You're the most wonderful girl I've ever met…"

"Mother!!"

Father…look…"

"No!!" Narcissa snarled. " I won't let you leave me Lucius!! I love you! I won't let you go!!" She pulled as if she were possessed and the cross eased out of him like a knife in butter. Blood oozed from Lucius' chest and she removed him from the keyboard. At last the organ stopped crying out. For some reason, she no longer felt scared. She was going to save him. Her Lucius. Even if he didn't love her,…she loved him… She leaned foreword, and placed her palms over his wounds. Her eyes closed and warmth poured from her. If she had been one of the servants running in, she would have seen herself emitting a soft green light, and watched, aghast as Lucius' bones, muscle and tissue mended into an tender wound, not a life threating one. 

Narcissa felt someone pull her off of him and walk her from the chapel. If she hadn't been so suddenly tired she would have realized something very important. She had used magic…

_This is the end of Chapter 4!! I'm sorry for taking so long, but I can only type this during the weekends, and then I have parties and school volunteering, blah, blah, blah…_

Chapter 5 is going to be one of my favorites!! As a quick taste I'll tell you some of the plot. The Dark Lord summons Lucius. Since he is unable to attend, Narcissa must go for him…and is inducted as a Death Eater. And Draco gets his first taste of blood…Hehehe.


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